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To Seneca, who knows my soul
Folder:
Current Portfolio I wish I were dead.
There is no secret in this.
There is no irony, there is no hiding.
I wish I were dead.
I am a tiny ant; evaporate my meaningless existence
Beneath your existential magnifying glass.
My heart is empty. My soul is dead.
Oh, atheism claimed -
There is no meaning and it is beautiful.
I do not pretend to seclude myself in some
Ancient, omniscient philosophy.
I only wish to be the most stoic of Greek philosophers -
To open my veins in a warm bath.
To feel the blood drain out of myself,
Warmth to warmth,
Within a pool of clarity,
It is the depth of knowledge.
Temet nosce -
Know thyself -
Nothingness,
Enlightenment,
I am the pre-ancient post-modern.
I am gone.
This poem, its beautiful. I posted, I suppose, immedeatly after yours and I feel so many of the same emotions. You really tapped into something here- i loved the line 'I am the pre-ancient post-modern'. thank you